July 26, 2004

Who's that pickin' a banjee?

ROGERSVILLE, Tennessee (AP) -- The party's over for four inmates accused of going on a beer run after the jail's doors were accidentally left unlocked.

The men were charged Monday with escape and bringing alcohol into a jail.

The breakout occurred Thursday night after cellblock doors at the Hawkins County Jail were left unlocked and a faulty control panel failed to alert jailers, Sheriff Warren Rimer said.

Two of the inmates walked out through a fire exit, leaving the door propped open with a Bible, and made a hole in the exercise yard fence. They walked to a market, bought some beer and returned to the jail to share it with other prisoners. When the booze ran out, the other two inmates made another beer run to a different store.

Authorities believe the inmates bought more than two cases of beer in all.

"I guess they thought if they came back they wouldn't be charged with escape," Rimer said, "but they were wrong."

All a hillbilly really needs during the warm summer months is walking weather, cold beer, good tunes, and good friends. Hell, we could be in jail, but if the conversation is good and the seats are comfortable, it makes more sense to make a beer run if the doors swing wide open, than it does to go home or hide in the bushes. In a town like Rogersville (pop. 4,240), the sheriff was probably a fishing buddy, and the whole episode was probably more like Jerry Reed's "When You're Hot, You're Hot," than "America's Most Wanted." My own summer has been bubbling along nicely, and I figured it was time to drop an album review or two on you while you're out in the backyard doin' yer chores.

The Old97's, Drag It Up

I'll be honest and say that I pretty much hated Satellite Rides, the previous album from the Old97's. There was a period there where a handful of Roots/Alt Twang stars thought they were actually Alt Pop/Rock stars, and they put out some albums that were puzzling at best, and just plain boring at worst. To be sure, the 97's have always been out on the twang edge, but when Murray playfully puts down Rhett on stage, all teeth and glasses and downhome drawl, it's hard to divorce them from their hillbilly roots. So I just hated Satellite; it didn't make sense to me. I really haven't listened to it all that much in the past few years, but I can remember thinking, "this is a Rhett record." It wasn't as far off the charts as Robbie Fulks' disastrous Couples in Trouble (a record I still can't believe exists), but I wanted the old Old97's back, in some form. Thank God for Drag It Up. Now we're talkin'. This record has all the bravado of Wreck Your Life, with just a dash of age and maturity, that seems more of a natural progression from where these guys started. It's hard to put your finger on it, but that guitar sound is back. It's kind of biscuit mixed and gasoline fed, and it sounds crude next to Rhett's aching heart throb of a voice, but THAT'S the core of what they do. Just plug this into your car's outputs and get on the damn road. Murray's "In the Satellite Rides a Star," and Rhett's "Adelaide" will absolutely break your heart, and the opening track "Won't Be Home" is the kind of Friday night, rip the tops off the six pack, and get her rollin' anthem that this summer needed.

Eleven Hundred Springs, Bandwagon

The battle between Trashville and Texas has its many folds and crevices, but it can be neatly summed up by one particular dynamic: Nashville encourages and promotes a lot of beautiful, manicured dumbasses who are just playing dress-up when they act like "outlaws;" whereas Texas prefers their long-haired, stoned, smelly hillbillies to really be long-haired, stoned and smelly hillbillies. I haven't stopped listening to Bandwagon by Eleven Hundred Springs since my copy got to the station on Saturday. Doing this radio program week after week, I have about 3 standing wishes: 1) that at least one chick calls the studio during the show, 2) that the music geeks in my audience never give up on me, and 3) that at least one, solid, original COUNTRY record comes down the pipe during the summer, something I can listen to while slow roasting a pig's ass in my New Braunfels smoker...something I can play for friends while the señoritas mix up margaritas and the mosquitos get drunk from our forearms...something that makes owning an 8 year old pickup that you drive around town with the windows rolled down, hanging your arm out the window and whistling at girls, make sense...you know, a damn COUNTRY record. My friends and I once spent an entire weekend down at the South by Southwest festival leaning out the window and yelling at pretty girls, "Hey girl, goin' to th' show?" No show in particular, just "th' show." This is this summer's "goin' to th' show" record. I like standing around in my old blue jeans, barefoot, half anesthetized, howling along with a good ol' steel guitar; if you do too, you need to jump on the Bandwagon.

Posted by Jack Sparks at July 26, 2004 11:12 AM

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